


bad moon rising

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Full Shift Werewolves, Mild Gore, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Werewolf Transformation, alexs first transformation, its gory okay, no uwuwolves in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: It wasn’t a bad night for itTransforming for the first time into a savage, moon-worshipping lycanthrope, that is.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	bad moon rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brookeluvsdogs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookeluvsdogs/gifts).



> okay hello to my second challenge entry- all the supernatural talk got me wanting to do my part, so here's a graphic transformation fic to enjoy  
> title is from 'Bad Moon Rising' by Mourning Ritual ft. Peter Dreimanis

It wasn’t a bad night for it

Transforming for the first time into a savage, moon-worshipping lycanthrope, that is.

He’d been feeling it for the better part of a week- the little cues that something big was coming, the winds of change that made his head ache for days with the sudden rush of _noise._ The whistle of the trees at night that made his head ring and sleep evade him, the chatter of his friends that was usually entertaining now loud and abrasive and dizzying. He’d not slept for days beyond napping for an hour after his body physically shut down, and now as he leant back against the trunk of the tree he felt hollow, eyes aching and itching like they’d been sprinkled with sand and gravel and shards of glass.

They’d been the most obvious about the upcoming ordeal. His eyes had grown bloodshot a day before his ears started their change, and since then the thin band of green that used to surround his pupil had grown, flooding the whites of his eyes until tonight, when they’d fully filled the space that used to be white. The night around him looked brighter by a sliver, and the colours a little duller even for nighttime, but these changes were only a taste of what was to come.

It was his fault he was even out here- curled up in the cold with only his own nervous excitement to keep him company. A month ago he had been dared by Philippe, of all people, to go check out whatever had been howling and yelping and barking for what had by that point been two hours. Alex had never been averse to the idea of becoming a ‘creature of the night’ and so who was he to pussy out of a dare given to him by some screamer? Alex was a screamer in the sheets too, but he never went and made a species out of it- not that he’d ever call Philippe that to his face, he’d been hexed enough times to know that’s a stupid move.

He’d been about to turn tail and head back when the carrying on from the unseen werewolf had stopped, placing Alex in complete silence, perhaps if his heart hadn’t been thudding so loud he would’ve heard the quiet crunch of heavy paws against dried leaves. Maybe then he might’ve been able to run for a few seconds before he was caught.

It had gotten him on the shoulder, though it had been going for his throat, he’d turned at the last second and caught those sharp fangs on the back of his shoulder and under his collarbone, the impact throwing him to the floor. The wolf had been a large, heavy, reeking form on top of him, ripping and shaking until a sound a couple metres to their left had caught it’s attention- likely a deer scared out of hiding by the commotion and Alex’s shrieking, and the wolf took off after the movement, leaving Alex bleeding and stinking of dead animals, old blood and god knows what else.

He’d dragged himself back to the house, clutching his shoulder and trying not to think about the tingling in the torn flesh of his shoulder. By the time they’d reached the hospital it had all but left barely a scratch. He would’ve been thrilled right then if it hadn’t been for the grilling his mother had been dishing out to the boys stood outside his room, it kind of made him feel smug, rather than thrilled.

Though, he was anything but smug now, shivering and aching in the same damn forest he’d been bit in, watching the sky and waiting for the moment the moon reared its glowing head from between the clouds to signal the beginning to likely what was to be the worst night of Alex’s life.

It started in his fingers, a sharp pain through each tip that had him flexing his hand and rubbing the digits into his coat until he felt them catch, but that was when the sensation spread to his toes, and Alex shook his shoes off quickly, the cold snap against his feet numbing the pain for only a moment before it came back twofold. He could feel his gums starting to throb now, feeling swollen and intrusive inside his own mouth as he stumbled onto his knees, his bones clicking and popping like a chorus in his ears as he moved, his fingernails- or whatever they’d become, caught and tangled in the fabric of his clothes until he ripped them free, taking his jacket and shirt with them and leaving them a ripped mess underneath him. He forced his palms into the dirt, trying to feel the cool of the earth and only feeling the sharp, ripping pain that was now washing over his body.

The popping of his bones had erupted to life, snapping and grinding and _growing_ inside him, and if his eyes weren’t squeezed firmly shut he likely would’ve thrown up at the sight of his bones moving beneath his skin like he was full of something trying to dig it’s way out. His back arched as his muscles loosened and tightened around the churning mess of his skeleton, tendons scraping jagged edges and tissue tearing against shards of bone trying to rearrange itself into something animalistic, something inhuman.

He screams around the pain, and as he shrieks he can barely make out the thirty-two tiny little pops, and then there’s blood in his mouth, though not from the screaming. Thirty-two little hard mounds of bone slide down his tongue, their journey eased by blood and spit until they tumble from his mouth to the forest floor, falling into a pile like a bloody little offering. With no teeth in the way his jaw snaps and extends, stretching gums along the new maw until finally his mouth can be filled with _real_ weaponry.

It’s hours of bending bones and twisting muscle and unimaginable pain until it finally feels over, and Alex is left a starving, frenzied, panting mess of bloody, matted fur and sharp teeth. There’s a humanoid yelling at the back of his mind saying there’s game in these woods- _food_ \- and then he’s running, four paws falling evenly against the ground despite being broken down to mush just a half hour previous. His head is swimming with smells and sounds and all he knows is to run until his legs give out.

Deer and birds explode from dark corners, the movement filling his sight until it’s a blur of wings and legs and fur. He’s running and he’s snapping at heels but he’s failing to do what matters most, teeth missing the warm, furry flesh. Each chase leaves him impossibly more drained until his nose picks up something dead and he follows it blindly until there’s the rotted body of a squirrel under his nose and he’s practically inhaling it until there’s nothing but fluff and squirming bugs where the carcass used to be.

It’s not enough, the blood in his nose that could only be his own makes him frenzied and thirsty for more of it, but still the creatures stupid enough to venture out on such a night still outsmart and outrun him until he collapses against the dirt, a desperate whine leaving his throat and slipping softly between his fangs that taste of rotted meat and his own blood.

The ache of hunger earlier had turned into a relentless cramping, he was running on empty, so much so that he wasn’t running at all. Maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t still careening through the woods trying to tear up whatever crossed his path, maybe it was for the best that he was left almost paralysed by hunger pangs and exhaustion. He’d seen the papers- seen the trials on television of those that had brutally murdered people on the night of their first change. Driven into a frenzy much like Alex was, running with power they’d never felt before, no doubt hungry even if they’d been stuffing their face just moments before transformation, let alone if they hadn’t ate since dinner last night thanks to the pre-change jitters like Alex hadn’t.

They’d pulled the known Lycans out of class in highschool- those born werewolf or those they’d known had been bitten- when their first change was becoming imminent, given them the education they’d need to try and prevent a tragedy. Alex had heard that werewolf attacks made the worst crime scenes- even worse when the killer was still there, either a growling, snarling, bristling beast standing over what was left of the corpse or a shaking, naked, terrified teenager staring in disbelief at the atrocity they’d committed. Maybe Alex was lucky.

He’s shaking against the biting chill in the air, even under his fur, dark and concealing under the cover of night he’s cold- _werewolves were supposed to be warm_ he thinks to himself, before scoffing, watching the dirt and leaves under his nose skittering away from him, _that was in twilight you idiot._

The thought had only served to distract him from the discomfort for a minute before it returned in full force, he writhed against the earth, as if wriggling enough could dislodge whatever was trying to crush his stomach in it’s grasp.

He’s almost relieved when he feels that familiar tingle start in his paws, and even as his body snaps and bends he watches as his paws stretch outwards, each toe straining to move away from his paws until the skin between what would usually be his fingers tears, blood lazily seeping into the earth, claws burrowing themselves back into his nail bed to make way for the flat, human nails he was so used to. Alex knows he’s screaming and groaning through the tearing and breaking of what feels like every fibre of his being, but he can’t tear his eyes off of his paws as they slowly start to look more and more human.

He’s spluttering huge, sharp teeth out onto the dirt as he watches the dark fur that had covered him head to toe recede into his skin, and he could almost sob with delight as he blinks through his tears at the pale, human hands beneath him. The rising sun paints him orange as he drags himself out of the clearing he’d collapsed in, leaving the dirt where he lay painted red with blood and teeth and tears. He blinked blearily, noticing absent-mindedly that the colours seemed so much brighter than anything he’d seen the past few days. Everything was still loud- the chirping of birds having just awoken, the nervous chatter of animals leaving the safety of their burrows- but now it was less so, more bearable. Although Alex figured anything was bearable compared to the complete transformation of his body.

He wants to sleep- he’s tired beyond reason, tired and hungry and thirsty and _uncomfortable._ He needs to get up- needs to find whatever had been left of his clothes and stumble home, but he can’t imagine getting up, can’t imagine walking anywhere. Maybe he’ll just stay here until he passes out or something.

He’s half conscious when he hears shouting- far off but no doubt there, usually he would strain to hear something so far off, but now his enhanced hearing comes in handy. Sounds like Tommy and Philippe, but he can hear the footsteps of two others with them- they’d come to look for him, to see if he was alright… the thought makes his heart give a weak kick of affection that he’d never really felt for them.

He calls out weakly, but even his pathetic little voice sounds loud in the silence of the forest, and after a moment of uncertainty from them, their footsteps start up again, four pairs of feet eagerly crunching in the leaves and grass and dirt until he can see them- the extra two were George and Peter, who look wide-eyed and shocked as they take in Alex’s naked, blood-speckled form. Their eyes jump from his bloody fingers to his bloody mouth, whatever they’re thinking is the reason is likely far from the truth.

“You found me” he grumbled, hiding his bare groin with his legs until Philippe hands him some clothes- a hoodie and some trackpants that Alex accepts gratefully. He covers himself with the clothes as he stands tenderly, head spinning as he does so. He waits for the boys to turn around before he pulls the trackpants and hoodie on. Exhaustion demands he sits back down, but this is the best chance he has of getting enough motivation to get up and get out of this damn forest.

When they turn back around Philippe smiles at him sympathetically, “you okay?” he asks simply, and Alex nods, although he can still hear the grotesque sounds of crunching bone and tearing flesh echoing in his head.

Tommy steps forward and puts a hand on his shoulder, directing him towards the way the group came, pressing a bottle of water into his hands, “welcome to the gang, Alex.”

**Author's Note:**

> drop me a phat kudos and comment!


End file.
